Page 42

“Emma,” Cecilia warned, “if I must march you down to the modiste right now and have her fashion you one, I will do so. If this is to be our final evening together for a while, it will be perfect. I will not allow it to be any other way.”

Emma sighed, but she was smiling, and the four of them left for her bedchambers to select the perfect gown. They searched through all of them when suddenly Dorothy gasped, pulling one and holding it up.

Emma had forgotten that she had brought it.

It was the gown she almost debuted in, bright white with jeweled embellishments. She had chosen another in the end, one that wasn’t nearly as extravagant, and then there was never a time that she wished to wear it after that.

“I cannot,” she protested. “It is white, and I am not a bride, nor am I a blushing debutante.”

“It is a gown,” Cecilia replied, holding it to her, “and nobody is insisting that you wear a feather or a veil with it. Dorothy has made the perfect choice. This is the one.”

There was no use arguing with them, Emma knew that much. In any case, she could afford to make a slight fool of herself. After all, it wasn’t as though she had anyone to impress. There would be no husband coming her way, and so there would be no harm in wearing something that wasn’t particularly well regarded. It excited her, even, to do something that she shouldn’t.

Suddenly, there was a knock at her door, and the girls scrambled to hide the gowns again. Emma opened it to see Sarah in the doorway, smiling softly.

“May I join you?” she asked, and she was welcomed in.

“Do you have plans for this evening?” Beatrice asked, as they all fussed around her.

They were also aware of Sarah’s maid and her inability to achieve perfection, and so they worked together to have her ready.

“Well, I do plan to do something quite spectacular,” she blushed, “but I cannot say just what it is, yet. All I can say is that I will be celebrating my final evening of freedom.”

“You speak as though you are headed to your grave,” Cecilia tutted. “Is he truly that awful?”

“No, not really. I have come to accept it, in all honesty, and it is as my sister told me; he could be far worse.”

Sarah was strangely tranquil. Emma did not believe it at all. No more than she had believed it when Sarah was a child, saying she did not want dessert and then robbing the kitchen blind after the household had gone to bed. Something had to have changed, she thought, but Sarah was not saying just what it was.

When the ladies were dressed, they met in Emma’s room so that they could all leave together. When they arrived there, however, Emma was still standing before her mirror. She hadn’t been able to decide on her jewelry, and it was beginning to make her feel very frustrated indeed.

“There is an easy solution to this,” Cecilia said brightly, taking the locket from her desk and fastening it around her neck before she could protest. “There. You look lovely.”

“I cannot wear this! The Duke of Lupton won it with me. I do not want him to think–”

“He did not give it to you, though, did he? No, the Duke of Pridefield did. Nobody shall know where it is from to begin with, as you had already removed it when most guests returned. It is a locket, Emma, not a badge with a name on.”

She looked at her reflection, and she had to admit that it looked lovely. It wasn’t like the jewels that her friends wore, but it was more like her than any diamonds could have been. She had never liked grand displays of wealth, and the locket was a delicate thing, personal, something that held a memory, and Emma preferred that. With a nod, she turned to the door, her friends following closely behind.

As they entered the ballroom, Emma felt all eyes turn to them. They were, after all, quite a bizarre group, and so it was no surprise to her. Regardless, they paid no attention to it and enjoyed themselves.

“He is watching you,” Dorothy whispered to her after a while.

Emma turned, and the Duke of Lupton was standing nearby, his eyes not leaving her.

“That is none of my business. He may do as he pleases, after all.”

“Very well, but I thought you might wish to speak with him.”

“Dorothy, why on Earth would I want to do that?”

“Because you may not see him again after tonight! You never know, and I do not want you to live the rest of your life wondering if you should have told him the truth.”

“There is no truth. If there was, I would have told him by now and you know that.”

“If you insist, Emma. Oh! My mother is summoning me. I shall find you later.”

Dorothy quickly made her way to her parents, and Emma was left with her thoughts. Why was it, she wondered, that everybody seemed to notice something that she could not? She did not feel that she was lying to herself, but then with all of the changes she had witnessed she hardly knew herself anymore.